


Someone to Live For

by Minxchester (ComeAlongPond14)



Series: I've Got You [2]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Come as Lube, Comfort Sex, Exhibitionism, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Other, Past Bethyl, Public Hand Jobs, Quiet Sex, Silence, past Daryl/Beth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 08:45:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10553434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComeAlongPond14/pseuds/Minxchester
Summary: "I've got you." The words spear through Daryl like a hot knife, the exact same thing that he’d told Beth that night--but rather than dousing his arousal, the heat of them scorches through his entire body.Title from "Gone" by Kelly Clarkson.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Part 1 was supposed to be a Bethyl one-shot, but hey, I can't seem to leave Daryl or his dick alone. Moving on to some sweet, comforting Rickyl smut.

“I was with Beth. We got out together. I was with her for a while.” Daryl stops there, unsure of how to continue--how to explain either of the following Big Things. The part where he was with Beth in a way that didn’t even make sense to him, anymore. Or the part where she was just suddenly...not there anymore.

“Is she dead?” Rick’s voice is quiet. Daryl knows that it’s as much because he’s still numb with horror over what just happened with Joe’s men, Michonne, and Carl as it is to do with respect for the grief he can obviously sense in Daryl--but in that moment, it feels as if it’s only for his sake, and Daryl needs that.

His voice is soft when he answers. “She’s just gone.”

Rick doesn’t respond to that statement, just nods, staring ahead with the hollow gaze of a man who’s lost too many friends. Daryl gets that--even though Beth meant something so much more.

They move on.

* * *

It doesn’t come up between him and Rick again until after the Terminus disaster. Until after they’ve been hiding out in Gabriel’s church--and then Daryl gets a second chance when he sees the car with the white cross again, and Carol joins him in an insane chase to try and find out what happened to his Beth.

It doesn’t come up again between him and Rick until after the man himself accompanies Daryl back to Atlanta to bring Beth home....and instead, Daryl emerges from Grady Memorial with the body of the most passionate, bright-souled young woman he ever knew, limp in his arms.

Beth is gone again, forever this time, and nothing Daryl says or does will bring her back. No more second chances, no more saving her from the jaws of death and then having her pull him back from his own dark mind. 

Beth is dead.

It doesn’t come up again between him and Rick until after they’ve been left wandering without food or water for days.

Once the group had revived themselves on stray dog meat, and had rain water to tide them over, they take shelter from the rising storm in the barn, and spirits are low. Daryl can sense how miserable and hopeless everyone is, and he wants to be stronger, wants to push them all to feel confident in their future, but he’s still hurting too deeply.

Even the unifying adrenaline rush of forcing the doors shut against the horde of walkers only alleviates the grim atmosphere until it’s over, and the rest are able to slump into exhausted sleep in clumps of two’s and three’s on the dirt floor.

Daryl is the last one holding the door, just as he was the first, watching the others drift off from sheer weariness as he presses his back to the opening, listening to the storm rage and the monsters disappear again. For now.

Once the rain has quieted from a torrential downpour to your average southeastern deluge, Daryl relaxes, but he knows sleep isn’t going to come to him anytime soon. He checks the chain on the door once more, then leaves it be, making his way around the rotted stall partitions to find a corner away from the others, out of sight. Sinking down onto the old straw littering the ground, he leans his head back against the weathered wooden wall, staring into the darkness and trying not to think or feel a damn thing.

When Rick approaches, Daryl knows that it’s him, doesn’t react or look up. The older man sinks down beside him, his side pressing against Daryl’s, and the warmth is comforting.

“You’ve barely slept since we found each other,” Rick remarks, and Daryl blinks at his wording.  _ Since they found each other.  _ Since the dipshits that he’d encountered had tracked Rick down and tried to psychologically and physically torture him, assuming that Daryl would simply help them out with that.

“Can’t shut my mind up,” he replies, and Rick sighs quietly, the sound suggesting that he already knew that was the answer.

“What can I do to help?” he asks softly, and Daryl turns finally to look at him, surprised at the undercurrent he hears in the older man’s voice. There’s the usual weariness--Rick never wanted to be the permanent leader, never wanted to be responsible for all of their lives and to feel the weight of their deaths. And a touch of grief, because he loved Beth too--though, differently, of course.

But there’s something else, something helpless and anxious, like it’s specifically Daryl he can’t stand to see wallowing in this pain. The younger man frowns, staring at his friend, his leader, this man he trusts with his life, and then looks down at his hands again.

It surges up from deep inside his chest--the same spike of agony that he’d felt when he and Beth had fought about the walker outside of the cabin they’d burned down. When the tears had come up, and he couldn’t fight them, and that beautiful little girl had wrapped her arms around him from behind and just held the hunter tight, soothing him as the fear and pain overwhelmed him.

Daryl makes a sound, something wounded and almost whimper-like, and Rick doesn’t miss a beat; he lifts his arm, and Daryl slumps sideways, curling into the older man’s hold like a child needing to be told it’ll be alright. He doesn’t cry this time, though, just presses his face into Rick’s chest and fists his fingers into the dirty, worn fabric of his shirt, and feels Rick’s hand stroke through his long, tangled hair, hears the wordless sounds of comfort that the man makes over his head.

“We all miss her,” Rick whispers, and Daryl shakes his head slightly, tilting his face so Rick will hear him clearly.

“It ain’t that,” he says hoarsely. “I mean, I do, sure as shit, but it’s just--I feel like everything’s--it all slips outta my reach the instant I start carin’, you know? Fuck...it scares me, Rick.”

The hand in his hair tightens for a split second, and Daryl swallows at the tug, almost hiccuping in surprise. It sends a pulse of something else through him, that little jolt through his scalp, and the burst of heat feels out of place, and probably inappropriate.

But it had been so damn long.

“Far as I know, you and me have cared about each other a pretty long-ass time, and I ain’t slipped away, have I?” Rick asks, his tone gentle and almost teasing, fingers still curled in Daryl’s hair, and the archer huffs a weak little laugh, too tired to be properly amused.

“Guess not,” he allows, relaxing his hand without moving it--it rests on Rick’s chest, oddly intimate, and he can feel the older man’s heartbeat beneath his palm, soft and steady and just a touch too fast. “I mean, technically you did when we all had to run off from the prison--but you’re still alive, so I guess it don’t count.”

Rick’s voice has a hint of a tired smile in it. “And you managed to find your way back to me, through the most ass-backwards circumstances possible. Always astonishin’ me, Daryl Dixon.”

There it is again, that almost catch in his speech, and Daryl frowns again, lifts his face up a little to look at Rick’s face, to try and read that underlying tone in his voice. The man looks back at him without fear or reserve, blue eyes as dark and intent and focused as they ever are. But there’s that something else, too, something Daryl’s never seen before in Rick’s gaze, and he doesn’t know what to make of it.

Rick cocks his head a little further, leveling their gazes a bit, and the shift makes his hand move against Daryl’s hair, giving another tiny little pull. Daryl reacts--not a wince, because it doesn’t hurt, but he knows his face spasms, gives him away. Rick’s eyes widen a fraction, then slide up to look at where his hand is threaded into the younger man’s messy brown locks. Then back down to Daryl’s eyes, and one eyebrow rises a little as he pulls again, more intentionally, a little more sharply.

Daryl narrows his eyes as the motion draws his head back, baring his throat and possibly letting Rick better see the way his pupils have expanded. “Enjoyin’ yourself, there?”

That puts a hint of a familiar smirk on Rick’s face, and Daryl’s stomach twists, remembering the better days at the prison, when his sarcastic one liners and snarky quips could bring that smug, delighted look to Rick’s face on a daily basis. He’s always loved making the older man smile.

“Might be--but more importantly, seems like you are,” Rick responds, and Daryl’s breathing gets shallow, because he doesn’t want to admit to a damn thing if it’ll ruin everything else. But Rick still sees through it, of course he fucking does, goddamn cop with instincts sharp as knives still.

“You don’t have to say,” he comments, fingers loosening. “If you don’t--”

Daryl reaches up, catching his wrist and keeping Rick from withdrawing his hand. He’s twisted around now, still sitting on the floor beside Rick but with his torso angled to better see the older man, his inside arm bracing him against the dirt floor and his other hand now lifted, keeping that hand from getting too far.

Rick stills, glancing at the way Daryl’s fingers encircle his wrist, then looks him in the eye again. “I honestly thought,” he says, and he’s much quieter now, the rain drumming on the barn roof drowning out any risk of being overheard. “I thought you and Beth, maybe--that there was somethin’, that might’ve...you know, once you were out there alone--I thought you two were--”

“We were,” Daryl confirms, voice tightening for a second. “Not before that, I mean--just--out there. Once, one time. The night they took her,” he added, and he stops there, because Daryl doesn’t want to remember or think about the way that Beth looked at him, or the softness of her lips. He doesn’t want to think about the flush of her skin, the way she arched for him, the sweet glisten of her pussy, or the way she squeezed down around his cock, welcoming him into her body so perfectly.

Rick’s hand settles in his hair again, stroking again, much more tender than controlling this time. “I can’t imagine how bad you’re hurting,” he says finally, and Daryl snorts.

“Yeah, you can,” he mutters, pushing himself off of Rick and looking the man in the eyes. “You’re one of the only people who  _ could _ get it. An’--you’re the only one I’m talkin’ to about it,” he added, a touch harder, the unspoken plea making Rick nod at once.

“‘S just between us,” he promises, and Daryl relaxes. Like the dog that Merle used to tease him for being as a kid, he tilts his head back into the touch of Rick’s fingers, and the older man chuckles, resuming the petting for a moment before he speaks again. “So you were--you two were, but you’re...you seem to like this?” Rick asks, as if unsure of how to word his thoughts. His hand tightens again as he finishes speaking, though, wordlessly clarifying what he means by  _ this _ .

Daryl smirks, the expression more bitter than amused. “I guess I like a lot of things. Never knew I liked her, and then she tasted like fuckin’ sunflowers and my brain just...shut off.” He paused, letting himself feel the faint pull at his scalp, and that same flash of unexpected heat as before. Daryl’s cheeks warm. “You’re...a good leader, Rick.”

The older man laughs faintly, sounding tired. “I don’t feel like I am. I think I let y’all down every day.” Using his hand in Daryl’s hair, he turns his face, and their eyes meet again with scant inches between their faces. “Why do you like this?”

Daryl tries to think, tries not to focus too much on the glow of Rick’s eyes that close to his own, or the way that the older man smells like a mix of campfire smoke and rain water.

“I trust you,” is what he settles on saying in reply, because that’s really what it comes down to; more than being about whether he wanted Beth, or something else, and more than being about whether Daryl is lost in grief, or loneliness, or anger, or whatever the hell is coursing through him right this second...it’s Rick he’s looking at, and confiding in.

It’s Rick, and Daryl knows that he’s safe with this man. He’s known that since he’d hallucinated Merle mocking him for his loyalty to the former cop as he stumbled back to Hershel’s farm, busted up and bleeding, and Rick was one of the ones who’d come running to catch him when he collapsed.

Daryl’s known that he trusted Rick from the bottom of his soul for longer than he could define, and right now, it feels like the only thing he can make any sense out of.

“I trust you,” Daryl repeats, refocusing on the man in front of him.

Rick looks almost overwhelmed by that simple statement; but then there’s a flash of resolve in his gaze, and the older man nods in confirmation.

He loosens his hold on Daryl’s hair, but before the hunter can protest at being released Rick is moving, rolling forward and up onto his knees before twisting around to face Daryl where he’s still sitting. He leans forward, reaching up to plant his hands on the wall on either side of Daryl’s head, framing his face.

It’s almost a flashback, for a split second, to the moment between when Beth kissed him the first time, and when Daryl succumbed, and kissed her himself. Except, this time it feels reversed, like it’s Daryl who’s nervous, waiting for a sign from the man he’s looking at that this is wanted, that this is allowed.

Daryl needn’t have worried.

When Rick kisses him, it’s somehow apologetic at first, tentative and asking permission. Daryl doesn’t fight, just parts his lips and lets the older man explore, lifting his own hands to curl into the front of Rick’s shirt to keep him from trying to retreat.

“‘M not goin’ anywhere,” Rick breathes, and Daryl huffs a laugh against his mouth, and shakes his head as they break apart just enough for him to speak.

“You’re gonna decide one of us didn’t really want this,” he shot back, tone firm. “I know you--you second-guess anythin’ that might make you happy. And unless you’re  _ only _ doin’ this ‘cause you feel sorry for me after losin’ Beth,” Daryl went on, his voice hardening just a touch, trying to convey his seriousness. “--then don’ you fuckin’ dare back out on me.”

Rick raises both eyebrows, unable to help his smirk. One hand moves from the wall to Daryl’s jaw, cupping his cheek gently, and when he answers, his voice is almost painfully gentle. “I don’t feel sorry for you, sweetheart. I know it hurts--hell, you know I get it.”

They trade a look, not quite a smile but definitely not pitying one another. Daryl and Beth may have been far from married, but he and Rick had each lost a good woman--and they were hurting over Lori  _ and _ Beth.

“You ever think about this before?” Daryl asks out of nowhere, suddenly struck by the distinct way that Rick didn’t answer the main issue he’d voiced--the worry that this was only out of compassion, and not actual desire for Daryl himself. Rick had never given any indication he could be into both sexes; neither had Daryl.

The older man’s smile is almost sad, but mostly just sweet. “At some point or other--yeah. Our life’s lonely, and I...” Rick pauses, looks down a little sheepishly before he meets Daryl’s eyes again. “Once you and me clicked, sometimes it felt like...you’re one of the only ones who got me. And when life stays lonely for this long, well, now and then you’re gonna...wonder. ‘Bout the people who you feel safest with.”

Daryl nods, slowly, and looks at where his fingers are still clenched into Rick’s shirt. “Merle always said I was a prison bitch at heart,” he mutters, bitterly amused. “That I found people who were strong, and locked onto ‘em. That I’d be loyal till it killed me.”

“Well, don’t go getttin’ killed on me,” Rick shoots back, making Daryl laugh weakly. He lifts his face back up, gazing at Rick hopelessly, and swallows roughly.

“I’ll try not to,” he offers, and tips his chin up in question. Daryl feels unbearably like Beth in this moment, wanting to ask but scared of being told no--but just like the little blonde, he also knows that he isn’t going to hear no. It’s just terrifying to wait.

Rick doesn’t leave him hanging for long.

The questioning feeling is gone from this kiss; Rick’s mouth is owning now, guiding, and somehow it feels a thousand times more right than Daryl could have ever imagined. He doesn’t let himself overthink a damn thing, doesn’t try to work out why it feels so fucking good to let the former sheriff dominate his mouth so effortlessly; he just parts his lips, letting Rick’s tongue sweep in, and Daryl melts under Rick’s hands.

“We gotta stay quiet,” Rick reminds him, and Daryl nods, fighting back the whimper that Rick must have somehow known was rising inside his chest. “You stay quiet for me, sweetheart, and then I can touch you how you need me to.”

Daryl forces his fingers to release Rick’s shirt, fumbling along until he finds one of the older man’s wrists, and tugs Rick’s hand down toward his groin. “Please,” he rasps, shaking slightly as his hips roll upward, seeking contact. “Please, just--somethin’--”

Rick nods back, pressing his palm against the curve of Daryl’s rising erection, hand curving to give him a gentle squeeze. “Course, sweetheart, don’ worry--I’ve got you.”

The words spear through Daryl like a hot knife, the exact same thing that he’d told Beth that night--but rather than dousing his arousal, the heat of them scorches through his entire body and down to his cock, and Daryl’s head falls back against the wall with a hard thunk that echoes faintly, making Rick startle slightly before he looks up at the younger man with a faint smirk.

“Gonna go wakin’ the whole barn up,” he teased softly, scooting in closer between Daryl’s spread legs, and raising the hand not currently molded to the shape of his cock to slip it behind Daryl’s head, fingers shielding his skull from the hard wood of the wall. “I’m just gonna have to take care of you every step of the way, aren’t I, sweetheart?”

Daryl shoots him a dirty look, but he doesn’t have any real protest to offer, and besides, he knows that Rick is just playing with him. If he minded the prospect of taking care of Daryl physically, he wouldn’t have come over to this side of the barn tonight.

Rick pops the battered button on his pants and pulls the zipper down, the sound of it painfully loud in Daryl’s ears. He looks downward, watching in awe as Rick’s fingers slip deftly inside, and then--

“Fuck,” Daryl groans, his head knocking back into Rick’s palm again as the older man’s hand closes firmly around his hard-on, stroking up the length of the shaft. His thumb sweeps over and around the head, finding the pre-come that’s already weeping from the slit, and uses it to ease the movements of his hand a little. “Fuck, Rick--Jesus, I thought you’d never--”

“Shouldn’t take a genius to work out how to do it, seein’ as I got a dick of my own,” Rick cuts him off, grinning at Daryl’s responsiveness. “Goddamn, Daryl, you’re fuckin’ gorgeous like this.” He sees the narrowed-eyed look Daryl shoots at him, and chuckles again. “Yeah, I know, you ain’t the type for flowery compliments--but it’s true.” He withdraws his hand, spitting into it and wrapping it back around Daryl’s cock before the archer can so much as whine of objection. “Listen to you...almost wish I didn’t need to insist on you keepin’ quiet,” he said, casting a half-look back toward where the rest were still sleeping.

Daryl huffs, reaching up shakily to find Rick’s other hand, and tugs it back in front of his face, biting lightly, playfully down on the older man’s index finger. “‘S your fuckin’ fault--don’t go blamin’ me for the noises I can’ help makin’ when you’re doin’ that shit.”

Rick’s blue eyes darken at the nip of Daryl’s teeth against his skin, and the instant Daryl releases the digit, Rick twists his wrist around and presses his hand flat against the younger man’s mouth, effectively gagging him. “Guess you got a point,” he purrs, tightening his hand further and smirking when Daryl growls and bucks into his grip, managing to mind his own head this time, and not slam into the wall again.

Rick doubles his efforts, stroking faster and tighter, and he pushes forward with his whole body, letting his weight serve to pin Daryl back against the side of the barn, eliminating Daryl’s options for squirming or making too much sound.

“I want to feel you come,” he whispers, and Daryl’s eyes snap open, rising to meet his over the curve of Rick’s fingers. “Wanna feel your whole body shake apart, sweetheart, wanna see you all sweaty and messy ‘cause of me.”

Daryl groans behind his hand, eyes wrinkling with a silenced laugh, but Rick didn’t release his mouth to let him share the joke. Dropping from his crouch down onto his knees, he presses his body up against Daryl’s from chest to stomach, kneeling between Daryl’s spread knees with his hand thrust down between them to reach the younger man’s cock.

Keeping his hand firm over Daryl’s mouth, he jerks him faster, watching intently as Daryl begins to tremble, his lower body jolting helpessly as his orgasm surges through him.

When he comes, Daryl’s entire body goes rigid, and he closes his eyes tight, pushing his head back against the wall and panting open-mouthed into Rick’s hand. The older man is careful, catching as much of Daryl’s release as he could in his hand, trying to avoid making too obvious a stain on his pants.

Finally, it stops, and Daryl slumps back a little, blinking drowsily up at Rick over his hand. Slowly, he lets go of Daryl’s mouth, and Rick smiles faintly down at him. “Better?”

Daryl inhales, shallow and shaky, and nods, dislodging Rick’s hand from his mouth with the motion. The archer glances down, taking in the way Rick’s own pants are bulging fairly impressively, and reaches for his fly with quivering fingers.

Rick catches his hands, stopping him, and uses his hold to tug Daryl away from the wall and up against himself; Daryl comes willingly, letting Rick haul him in close, locking his arms around Rick’s shoulders and tucking his face into the curve of his neck, so he can see down between their bodies. He watches Rick work his pants open, freeing his erection and starting to stroke it with fingers still slick with Daryl’s come.

“Fuck,” he whimpers, and Rick hums a little questioning noise, which makes him chuckle breathlessly. “‘S fuckin’ hot. Keep--keep goin’.”

Rick merely nods, his bearded cheek rubbing roughly against the side of Daryl’s face, and his movements speed up, jerking himself off with the younger man pressing up against him, clinging to him, almost not breathing as he lets Rick use his weight and heat to enhance for his own pleasure.

“Daryl,” Rick breathes, and there’s something about the way his tongue curls around the syllables of his name that leaves Daryl feeling far weaker than he had even from the effects of his own orgasm.

“Yeah,” is all he says, lips moving against the sweat-salty side of Rick’s throat, and he feels the man’s Adam’s apple bob under his mouth. “Please, Rick, c’mon. Need it. Need to see you.”

He doesn’t know if it’s just that Rick finally hit the peak of his pleasure, or if it’s his own voice, panting his words like each one is punching out of his gut--but either way, Rick gives an aborted little jolt, turning his face so that the snarl of relief he lets out gets muffled against Daryl’s temple, and the younger man closes his eyes at the sheer, overwhelming need in Rick’s touches as he climaxes, spilling over his hand, and onto the dirt floor between them.

They stay put for a long moment, infinite seconds ticking past as they clutch at one another, until Daryl realizes how sticky and spent he feels. “Messy,” he mumbles, and Rick smiles, drawing back just enough to bring them face-to-face.

“Messy’s right,” the older man acknowledges, wiping his fingers off on the dirty straw under their knees. “Should--go and get some rain water, clean ourselves off.”

Daryl nods his agreement, then pauses, biting at his bottom lip, and he knows that Rick sees it--sees through it. Rick’s hands come up, and with a mutter that sounds like  _ Dirty be damned _ , he cups Daryl’s face between his hands and kisses him again, hard, as if he needs it to survive. 

And Daryl lets him, surrendering to the control in the other man’s touch the same way he lets Rick lead him in everything. The way he trusts Rick to lead, always.

The wind creaking against the side of the barn prompts them to break apart, and Daryl looks around warily, as if suddenly remembering where they are, and how fucking close by their friends currently are.

Rick is slow to release him, only letting go of Daryl’s face when the younger man nudges him to stand first; Rick rises to his feet, pulling Daryl up with him, and they make their way, together, carefully, over to the doors to try and reach some rain water through the gap.

Once there’s more or less no evidence on either of them that they both just had messy, satisfying-to-the-core orgasms, they retreat back to the corner that Rick had occupied before going to find Daryl.

Nearby, Carl is curled around his little sister, still fast asleep. Rick looks over at his son, and is surprised to find no uncertainty or discomfort over what he and Daryl just shared; it’s nothing to wake Carl up and tell him about, but it’s nothing that Rick is ashamed of, either.

“Sleep here,” he whispers, and to his relief Daryl doesn’t argue or even look at him askance; he just nods, sinking down next to Rick and shrugging off his jacket to serve as a makeshift blanket against the cool night air.

It can’t last all night, of course--but for just a moment, Rick reaches out, resting his hand palm-up on the ground, and Daryl reaches back, taking it. Their fingers wind together, squeezing tightly, and Daryl looks up at him, his face sagging with exhaustion.

“I’ve got you,” Rick says again, so quiet that it’s nearly inaudible. “Rest.”

Daryl withdraws his hand, curling in on himself, and eventually Rick thinks he must be asleep. 

But then Daryl speaks again, almost quieter than Rick had just been. “Is that....we gonna be able to do that again?”

In the dim light of the barn, he sees the faintest smile touch Rick’s lips, and those dark blue eyes sweep over him again, lighting the way that they always did when Daryl makes him happy--even gets him to laugh a little.

“Yeah, I think so.”

Relieved, Daryl nods against his arm, folded up under himself as a pillow. He lets himself sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I want to continue this...but I'm not sure if it should stay only Daryl x Rick, or bring in others to take care of him, too. Thoughts?


End file.
